Black & White
by RyderBPD
Summary: Set a few months after the ending of the Avengers; Captain America encounters a lady superhero. . .who's always of two minds.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is something that's been kicking around in my mind for a while now; I've been on an Avengers binge lately. The lady superhero Duo is my own creation. . .I don't own anything relating to Captain America, and I sadly own no part of Chris Evans. **

**I'm not going to give any more pretext here. Hope you enjoy what I've. . .assembled. ;)**

Black & White: Chapter 1

"Steve, how can you be so sure of everything? Doesn't emotion ever creep into that tactical mind of yours?!"

My eyes are blazing now. I feel them a fiery green against everything else that seems so black and white in this room. My volatility and his convictions, both of them glaringly on display and pitted against one another.

"Of course it does," he replies tersely, setting that strong jaw. "Emotions are a natural part of the heat of battle, of defending what you love. I don't discount that element of a mission."

I look at him, beyond exasperated. "That's NOT what I mean. Everything with you is about battle, about war, about fighting and strategy. I'm talking about _this_." I step closer to him and press a black-gloved finger into his chest, to the right of the silver star adorning his suit.

A crack appears in his calm façade. "Me? I'm the one who's all about battle? I've seen you beat the heck out of more men in the last few days than Jack Dempsey ever did. You're violent, and angry, and completely unpredictable. And I—"

He balls his fists then stops for a moment, thinking hard.

"You called me Steve," he says at last, quietly.

"Last I checked, that's what's on your driver's license. I'm curious about the motorcycle endorsement."

"Why use my real name? Why not Cap like the rest?"

"You're not having some sort of existential crisis on me, are you?"

He looks into my eyes with his own deep blue pools, and their sincerity is enough to stun me into stripping the sarcasm from my words. I push the white half of my long hair behind my ears and sigh a little.

"Steve is who you are. I mean, Captain America is you too, but at its root you're simply another human being like the rest of us." I look down at my own costume and acknowledge it slightly. "The powers, the suit, the fighting—it's all me because I made it part of me. But the most important thing is who I am underneath it all.

You're right. I AM angry. And I can be unpredictable. But I accept that about myself, and I work every day to keep it under control. I use those rough patches of my personality to try and help other people."

"That's what I do as well," he says defiantly. "I use the mind I was given to defend the people of this country. To try and preserve the American Dream."

"You do have a brilliant mind. And I'm not trying to be a hypocrite. What I want you to do is think about the dangers of always giving everything to the public. Of losing yourself in the mission in order to protect everybody else."

"Dylan, I come from a time where you didn't think of anything BUT the mission. That's all there was, was defeating the Nazis. Fighting for freedom. We had to keep our eyes on the day when fear wouldn't reign supreme any longer."

"Yes, but even in the analytical throes of war there are raging emotions. I've seen old pictures of you standing in front of big crowds, throngs of men who were tired from battle. Every one of those guys had a girl he loved, or a family he'd left behind—even just the thought of a hometown that kept him going. Those things were all stuff you guys were fighting for, but it also made you real people."

He lowers his head, a strand of dirty blonde hair falling over his face. I press onward.

"And you just called ME Dylan. Why does it make so much sense to you to use my real name, but you're so stunned when I remind you of your own humanity?"

"I don't know," he confesses. "Perhaps it's because you seem to be the very embodiment of human emotion. You're so vibrant, and alive. So fueled by feelings. There's never any question that while your alter ego is Duo, you're a real person underneath."

"I'm trying to get you to see that you're same way. Not to the extent I am but certainly not just a Super Soldier. There had to have been a few times back in the day when you let your blood run a little hot. Before the sense of duty took over completely."

Finally his cerulean eyes meet mine again, this time twinkling a little with mischief.

"I suppose," he begins, "that there were one or two times when I didn't follow the orders. When I didn't do as the brass would have wished."

I pretend to be shocked at this. "Good heavens and land's sakes! You mean to tell me that the man with the Vibranium Victory shield does have a rebellious streak?"

"You're making fun of me now," he asserts, but smiles as he says it.

"Mr. Rogers, I assure you that I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

Shaking his head in mock disgust, he pulls off his gloves and uses long, powerful fingers to caress my face. "So crass, Ms. Skinner."

My breath hitches in response to his surprisingly intimate touch, yet I press on with my familiar sass. "I think you like it. There hasn't been enough crassness in your life so far, whether on foreign or American soil."

"That's likely true, ma'am."

His hand now moves to the top of my forehead, and its fingers plunge into the black side of my hair. As I breathe deeply and my defenses lower I can feel the slight prickle that always accompanies the follicular metamorphosis—it's changing back.

"My God," he whispers, taken aback by the sight.

I smile a little sheepishly and shrug my shoulders. "It's a strange side effect of the powers. Apparently the duality wanted to manifest itself in every way possible."

He looks enchanted as he lightly strokes the dyed purple tresses that now stop just beyond my chin. "It's beautiful. Different, but beautiful. And one hundred percent you."

My face flushes almost as bright as my hair, and so I lightly place my hands on his blue-clad shoulders. "How about you. . .that suit hiding anything special?"

His eyes widen a little and I curse myself for the wording. "I'm sorry—that probably sounded wrong—I like you a lot and you have no idea how much I love being close to you but I don't want to pressure you or anything and—"

Steve cuts me off, but not with a violent mashing of his lips into my own like in the movies. Instead he tips the back of my neck forward a little and gently touches his mouth to the crown of my candy-colored hair.

"Stop worrying, Chatty Cathy," he says. "I like you too. I like being around you. Your methods may be disconcerting at times, but you make me feel alive. The regular guy in me is completely captivated by you."

"Get it?" he says, looking pleased with himself. "Cap-tivated?"

"Good Christ, I hope you never used that joke on the USO tours."

"Put it this way—I didn't tell it twice."

In so many of my romantic encounters the cadence has been rough, and marked by violence. The more intense the sex, the more heightened the pleasure. But as he pulls me to him I can already tell that this is going to be different.

He tastes as clean as he looks, those perfect pink lips parting to reveal a mouth that lightly explores my own with his tongue. He kisses me deeply, but softly, never slowing his pace yet not moving too fast.

I decide to assert my 21st century methods of liplocking and as we pull back from the next kiss, I take his face in my hands, move in for his mouth on the sides and erotically lick his lips. His breathing quickens as I delicately touch my tongue about the glorious contours from whence his words flow.

As I retreat once more I open my eyes long enough to see his lashes fluttering a little. _I'm fucking kissing Captain America_, I think to myself. _And damn, is he beautiful._

After a time of soft, full kisses, Steve runs his fingertips down my shoulders and over the black-and-white striped spandex until two strong hands are resting on my hips. I respond by wrapping my arms about his neck, feeling blood course ever faster through my veins at his touch.

He affects every sense, from the warm, wet taste placed in my gasping throat to the pure masculine scent that seems to permeate my very being. My hands, so overwhelmed by the perfect musculature and hard lines beneath their fingertips, are trembling.

Finally I can take it no longer, and reluctantly pulling away from his embrace I take his hand.

"I want to taste you in bed," I state plainly, with no hint of drama or oversexed exaggeration.

His voice catches behind his teeth for a moment. Then the slightest hint of pink appears along those beautiful cheekbones, fading as quickly as it comes.

The baritone that emerges from his lips is so sexy that I almost forget to listen to the actual words being formulated.

"Show me the way."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Still grasping Steve's hand, I lead him down the hallway and into one of the rendezvous house's modest bedrooms. The comforter on the bed is blood red with crisp white sheets peeking out over its top.

I am still amazed at the way in which he's changing my demeanor. Although I am clearly the instigator of what's about to happen, I find myself calmer than usual. Were I reliving one of my past sexual escapades, by this point I'd either be throwing the guy around or completely submissive. Nothing in between.

Yet the Captain is inspiring something different within me. Desire, yes—but the desire to simply be myself. No roles, no extremes, no games. _I like this._

In this same vein I smile at him warmly—and maybe even with a touch of shyness. Turning to face him at last I can feel my fingertips craving the sensation of his pale skin, and so extend my hands in an exaggerated ladylike fashion.

"Would you mind, sir?"

Steve smiles. "Not at all." He then eases the white leather glove off, followed by the black one. Slowly. Gently. These barely look like the hands of a man who was flinging a shield with superhuman strength not an hour before.

When my olive-skinned fingers are exposed to the night air, he lifts my right hand and kisses it, all the while maintaining eye contact using those baby blues. _Good lord, I think my ovaries just exploded. Maybe not all of the 1940's ways were bad. _

He laces his fingers with mine and squeezes gently. "Do you have anywhere to be anytime soon, Ms. Skinner?"

I shake my head no. "The only place I wanna be right now is here with you."

No words come from his lips at my heartfelt assertion. Simply a smirk of a smile pushed to the right side of his face. He kisses me again, just as soft and slow as when we were in the main room.

My hands return to his body, sliding down until they come to rest just above the broad belt of his suit. I laugh in the middle of our kiss and he pulls back. "What is it?"

"Um. . .well. . .how do I get this thing off?"

He laughs back and looks at me playfully. "You're smart. You figure it out."

"You asked for it, Avenger Numero Uno."

I put a hand on his chest and guide him over to the bed; he allows me to push him back onto the comforter with ease. Crawling until I'm perfectly perched over his pelvis on all fours, I narrow my eyes and study the gorgeous terrain below.

"Hmmmmm. This looks to be pretty well secured to your body, Mr. Rogers. Not that I'm complaining."

My hands then move over every inch of the red, white and blue suit beneath me. I'm partially looking for seams and the like, but I'm also using it as an excuse to explore his body. No need to waste too much time on the clothes though. At last my fingers snake around his hips and find a tiny blue zipper embedded in the complex material. "Aha," I say with an arched eyebrow, very pleased with myself.

"Well done, beautiful," he grins in return. "Must be the magenta hair that helped you figure it out."

"The color is violet, thank you very much." I playfully flick his forehead and undo the zipper, separating the top half from the bottom. Both the upper and lower halves are fastidiously removed so as not to damage the fabric, and I sit back to see what they've revealed.

Steve Rogers is lying before me in nothing but a very form-fitting, long-sleeved blue shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. I do my best not to look lascivious but am left both dumbstruck and sexed up. The shirt is yanked from his torso and at last I am gazing upon the massive, gorgeous chest of Captain America himself.

And now I can't help it.

"Holy fucking shit," I utter, mesmerized. The firm pecs. . .the rigid biceps. . .the defined yet not freakishly cut abs. . .and the rounded, beautifully lined shoulders. . .I must look like a kid on Christmas morning, because he suddenly blushes a little when my hungry eyes meet his own.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I say with all sincerity.

"It's nothing," he murmurs. "It's just. . .new."

"What do you mean?"

"It's the first time I've been in this situation since they changed my body. Actually. . .the first time. . .um, period. I mean there was a woman I loved—at home, during the war-and she was beautiful, and I would have—you know—but. . .I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't talk about this right now."

I look at him kindly and immediately banish my pang of disappointment. "Steve. Please. Don't worry, okay? I know about Peggy. And I know you loved her. Tonight was completely unexpected, and honestly I'm just glad to be near you. I'm glad to share this with you. We don't have to do anything you don't want to or can't do.

Your body is beautiful, but you gotta be ready to share it in order for sex to be right."

He ponders this for a moment, then speaks again. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, Dylan—I—"

I glare at him then. "It's not wise to defy a woman with a mental illness when she's told you not to worry, dear man."

Steve relaxes a little and puts an arm behind his head. _Ohhhh lord. . .those triceps. . .dammit, Dylan. Shut UP. _He then reaches out and holds my hand. "Thank you. I really appreciate your understanding.

If it's okay, maybe we could just sleep next to each other with some clothes on? So that I can see what it feels like?"

"Sure, sweetie. Anything for the team leader."

I move to take off my flat boots, but he stops me with a simple shake of his head. "Let me."

With ultimate concentration and yet stunning grace, he takes off my shoes, then the black shorts covering my tights. When he reaches this stage he stops and considers my figure briefly.

"Now who's having trouble, Mr. Nazi Vanquisher?"

He clucks his tongue at me. "I'm just taking in your curves," comes the soft reply. The soldier before me moves his hands to the top of my bodysuit and moves it down my slightly trembling frame. As the fabric slides down my lithe limbs it reveals neon blue underwear and a matching bra, which the Captain cocks his eyes at.

"Good grief, that's bright. No black and white?" he teases.

"Nah," I smile. "It's who I am under the suit that counts, remember?"

Without another word he pulls back the covers and gathers me to him. I align my long legs with his powerful body and rest a hand on the broad chest abutting my breasts. I feel safe. Cared for. Beautiful yet not overly sexual.

I feel his head turn to place a light kiss on the top of my forehead. "Good night, my friend."

I smile at this even as my brain is furiously whirring over if we'll become more than friends. _This isn't the time, though, D. Just be near him. And be happy with that._

"Good night, Steve," I whisper, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Unburdened by our troubles for a few moments in time, my companion and I drift off to sleep in each other's arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Morning comes to the Emerald City, and as I open my eyes I'm treated to the early light of an August Seattle day. I blink the sleep from my eyes while taking a few moments to reflect on the past week. . . .

* * *

Monday morning I'd been rudely awakened at home in Leschi by a series of loud noises. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. Thinking them gunshots or police bike backfires, I'd quickly stripped naked and then willed my suit to appear on my body. _The opposite of nakedness is being clothed. _My hair responded to my swift actions, lengthening, dividing and changing color before I whipped it into a ponytail.

Upon stepping out of the small bungalow, my jaw dropped open.

Captain America was standing in the middle of my street, furiously beating his round shield against a human-shaped form.

"What in the ever-loving fuck?!" I yelled, completely bewildered.

"Don't just stand there!" the soldier roared. "Get over here and help me!"

I used my powerful legs to leap into the street and on top of a car right next to the Captain's furious hand-to-hand battle. Quickly sizing up the situation I determined that while the form looked human, there were patches along its neck where what appeared to be flesh had chipped away to reveal metal. The—well, whatever the hell it was—remained expressionless yet frighteningly violent as Steve Rogers, runt turned First Avenger, continued to wail on it with his vibranium shield.

"Your hands!" Cap cried. "Put your hands on its chest and will it to stop!"

I'm not used to being ordered around, and I was confused as shit trying to figure out how the Captain knew of my powers, but I acquiesced. Feeling the sensations of both curiosity and rage prickle in my fingertips, I splayed my hands and stuck them to the figure's pectorals. I concentrated. _The opposite of peacefulness is rage. Your rage is mine. I absorb it and I shift it to the other side. The opposite end of the spectrum. The opposite of rage is peacefulness. You are to be at peace now._

The arms on the figure stopped thrashing and throttling Steve, then drooped in impotence. There was still murder in the eyes, though, dancing and flickering like a beach fire at night. Quickly the Captain lashed the metallic being to the car I'd jumped atop a few moments before, and although he looked to have done a good job I maintained my mind's contact with the invader's actions just in case. _You will stay at peace._

Cap had breathed heavily then. Blood was flowing from at least five spots on his face, including his nose. I reached out and pinched it hard to stem the crimson flow.

"What," I began, "the HELL was that? What are you doing here? Are you legit Captain America? Who's this clown? And how the fuck did you know who I am as well as what I can do?"

I got a very judgmental _look_ then from the scientifically enhanced man at the end of my knuckled fingers. "Three expletives in just under five min—" he began, then tore his nose away from my grasp once he realized how ridiculous he sounded. "Minutes. Seems your file is pretty accurate, Ms. Skinner."

I bore my emerald eyes into the Captain's with incredulity. My voice lowered to a dangerous pitch, tinged with tremors like the first stages of an earthquake.

"Let me get this straight. You drop onto my street out of nowhere, beat the metal off the skin of some thing that looks like it's from another planet, speak to my powers like you've known me forever and you're passing judgment because I dropped a few F-bombs? Well here's one more, _sir_—fuck you!"

It was out before I could help myself, spoken not by the brain in my head but the blood running at a blisteringly fast pace through my veins. And it was not how I imagined meeting one of my heroes. _He's done so much for this country, whether or not I agree with what America stands for_ _right now. Brave, strong, always putting others before himself. What I try to be on my good days. _

He tipped his head to the side as if studying an alien life form, seemingly unsure whether to laugh or erect defense mechanisms.

I looked at the ground and wrung my hands in anxiousness. "Look, I'm sorry. I should be thanking you for keeping that thing from destroying my neighborhood. But I'm really confused-erm, Captain. If you could please start from the beginning and tell me why you're here, I would really appreciate it."

Steve smiled a little sheepishly and silently indicated that he would speak to the purpose behind his presence. The blue cowl was then pulled from his face, revealing dirty blonde hair that fell into perfect place about his set of defined cheekbones. I tried not to swallow visibly but failed.

_Daaaaaaaamn, _I'd thought. _Stars and stripes forever indeed._

* * *

I'm returned to Saturday morning with the feeling of movement at my back. Steve murmurs slightly, aligns his well-built body with my own muscular curves and slips a warm hand through the cradle of my hip. His fingertips come to rest atop my lower abs and I feel a stirring within my core.

The Captain then moves his face into the valley formed by the right side of my neck. He makes no move to kiss me, but instead simply breathes softly on my skin. The innocence of it draws forth erotic sensations from a place deep inside—I feel my breasts start to swell and my panties dampen slightly. _Knock it OFF, _I chide internally. _Why does everything always have to fucking be about. . .__fucking__ with you? Huh? Just lie here with this man and enjoy his humanity as well as his body. The sense of pure emotion you so ardently encouraged him to find last night. _

_It's been too long since you had someone gentle and kind in this bed, Dylan Skinner. Let him melt into you. _

So I relax, letting lashes flutter over my eyes once more. I feel Steve's skin heat the lines of my body as his hard pecs press into my shoulders. I breathe deeply, placing my hand atop his own. And—

"HELLOOOOOOOOO!" comes a, lively laughing voice from the living room. "Anybody home? Is there a doctor in the house? Perhaps a Captain? Maybe even a number cruncher?"

My face contorts into a wincing expression as I shoot mental daggers at the voice's owner.

_Tony fucking Stark. _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The deep nature of Steve's voice can still be tasted as he whispers over my shoulder, "Oh, hell."

"We've got about 30 seconds before he sees this and starts making all kinds of assumptions. Take your suit and get in there. GO."

Captain America accepts these orders without argument, scooping up his mass of red, white and blue fabric and then darting into the bathroom adjacent to our sleeping quarters. I stretch exaggeratedly and groan to cover the sound of the door shutting.

Clad in a tight-fitting black tshirt and oh-so-perfectly snug jeans, the billionaire genius playboy philanthropist of Planet Earth comes sauntering up to the open door. Tony and I liked each other immediately upon meeting; with such similar personalities we were either gonna love or detest one another, and I was so glad the former had won out. Dashing and daring yet a teddy bear deep underneath it all, Howard Stark's son never failed to brighten a room, a day, or an adventure.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," I say playfully, confidently letting the sheet lie about my hips.

"Ahh, the lovely Miss Dylan. Such a pleasure to see you again. Sleep well? Sleep hard? Feeling a little. . .blue?"

He gestures to my electric aqua bra and panties. I'm aware of his love for Pepper and would never, ever try to get between them. But pretty people are naturally drawn to one another (and I have to draw his attention away from the occupied bathroom), so I see no harm in a little flirting.

"I usually sleep in nothing, dear man, so today is your unlucky day."

"Yes indeed, my lady. I'm an authority on clothes and the lack thereof. Why do you think they call it being _Stark_ naked?"

I roll my eyes in jest, secretly loving the attention. "Was just going to make some coffee, Mr. Fashion Plate. Can I interest you in anything?"

"Is that a trick question?"

I give him a _look. _"Oh Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony."

"I'm pretty sure that was a 90's group but with three different spellings. You think they came up with the exclamation points all on their own? Or was that a studio move?"

"Since when are you an expert on slow jams?"

"You'd be surprised; Jarvis has some weird tastes."

I get out of bed, enjoying Iron Man's eyes on me. The sheet gets whipped off the mattress and I fashion it about my bust before sauntering out of the room.

"Hey, speaking of blue, where's the Super Soldier? He looked pretty cheesed off as you two split last night. Hard to tell though with him. That jawline always looks like it could cut glass, whether he's pissed or pleased."

"Nothing a little baseball and apple pie couldn't fix. I think he went out for a walk. Early risers, those nonagenarians."

He raises an eyebrow but decides not to pursue further. "You knowwww," he begins, "you two wouldn't look so bad together. Whaddya think? See yourself under that flag ever? Breaking past his indestructible shield? I think he could use a little spitfire like you in his life."

"Little?" I question with mock anger, even as my heart leaps into my throat at the idea of being with Steve. I sweep my arm down my powerful body, Vanna White-style. "Does anything about me look little to you?"

"Only your modesty, babe. Probably why I like you so much." He sniffs in exaggerated fashion. "You've still got a bit to go before you match my ego though."

"Come on, Narcissus. Let's defy logic and put more caffeine in those veins of yours."

Walking into the kitchen with the full extent of swagger that the sheet will allow, I wonder how Steve's going to enact the yarn I just spun. _Window? Back door? Surreptitious sneaking between rooms? _

I'm also intrigued as to what he might think about Tony's silly suggestion that the Captain and I try our hand at romance together. _I mean, last night was lovely, but it was going to be just sex, right? Although the way he breathed into my neck this morning. . .the feel of his hand between my hips. . .I wonder. _

My grandfather apparently used to hum when he was nervous or preoccupied, and as such I find myself emitting a bit of a tune as I bustle about the plain brown countertops. I've never stayed in this house before, obviously, yet I'm able to find things with ease. Good spatial sense is an ordinary power I'm proud of. I can parallel park my Benz like nobody's business.

"So how _are_ you this morning, darling?" I say with a smile as I set out two coffee cups. "That was quite a show you put on at the park last night."

"Oh, _stop,_ you," he chides, waving a hand at me effeminately. Then he quickly rests his elbows on the counter and comically cups his face in his hands. "Was I really that good?"

I purse my lips coyly and nod.

In typical flashy fashion, Tony had provided the aerial cover necessary for me to drag a reluctant Captain America away from Magnuson Park yesterday evening. The last thing I heard before we disappeared into the twilight air was Iron Man's voice yelling, "Let's see what you've got, you metallic wastes of space!"

_I wonder how we're going to stop those things. They had no trouble taking on the three of us together. . .has to be some kind of weakness. . .something that-_

Suddenly, though, my thought process is interrupted by bare footfalls on the wood floor of the dining room. I turn and have my irises filled to the brim with Steve's glorious bare chest, huge shoulders and wet hair. The visual of Captain America in a towel is enough to make me drop the sheet in shock before clutching it to my bra-clad breasts once more. He gives me a knowing _look. _

_Let me do the talking. _

"Steve-O!" Tony exclaims in delight. "We were wondering as to your whereabouts. Quite the unclothed party this morning—I feel so overdressed!"

"Hi, Tony," Cap says, unable to suppress a smile at his friend's enthusiasm. They shake hands and my clit jumps at the unlikeliest of things—veins in both strong right forearms flexing in the masculine yet friendly grip. _Christ, this could be a long day._

"Where'd you come from, Ace? Isn't the bathroom that way?"

"Shower's not working in the main toilet, so I used the one in Dylan's room," he replies nonchalantly. "This young lady appears to be quite the heavy sleeper."

"Young lady," Tony scoffs. "Steve, Cher is young compared to you."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Go put some clothes on."

As he walks away with the towel's thin red threads hugging his hard backside I feel my heart rate rise. This does not go unnoticed by the built brunette standing at my side, and he teases me gently.

"Wishing for X-Ray vision won't add it to your powers, you know."

"Believe it or not, Mr. Stark, sometimes I like a little left to the imagination."

"Uh huh. Not me. Much as I _loathe_ to say it, you should clothe yourself too since we've got work to do. What color outfit will you choose, I wonder? Black? White? Maybe get a little crazy and combine the two? How does it feel to be a walking embodiment of Taoism anyway?"

In extremely uncharacteristic fashion, I turn and saunter away without a comeback—but I'm grinning as I go.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Steve, Tony and I are gathered around the dining room table. Tony pulls the latest tablet/phone/computer from his coat and sets it down in our midst.

"Power on," he utters, then a few seconds later, "Access 'Sevens' file."

Instantly a series of holographic images circles around the phone. Iron Man spreads the images wide, touches the air with a series of deft, delicate flicks and drags, then stops at a particular image.

The photo—er, computer-generated rendering—is of one of our ruthless, mysterious foes. Similar to the one Steve and I handled earlier in the week, the figure is human looking enough at first glance. But after half an hour of battle and enough well-placed blows from Steve's shield, the true metallic nature of this species had once again shone through the flesh façade.

The thing in the picture was also female.

"I took this lovely lady's portrait right before I had to buzz off," Tony explains. "Couldn't have been more than five minutes after you two split."

"Wait," Steve says, "how is it that you got drained so quickly? I seem to remember you being at almost full strength as we left."

"The answer, my patriotic pal, lies in this very image. When I started trying to blast her, I got significantly weaker with each energy burst. The palladium started to fail, and flutter—felt like a swarm of butterflies in my chest or something, so disconcerting, like being shaken from the inside—and so I had no choice but to peace out."

"Was your suit able to at least analyze her makeup before you had to go?"

"I'm not sure, Dylan, but I'm thinking Clinique. Perhaps Lancome. Maybe even M.A.C!"

I laugh and roll my eyes. "Fine. Was the sophisticated instrumentation wrapped about your beautiful body able to determine anything about the enemy's physical composition?"

Tony looks at us reproachfully. "You know, if it weren't for me you guys would never have any fun. . .well, I take that back. _You_, missy, know how to have fun, but you have too much of it."

I shrug. "Goes with the territory. At least half of it anyway."

Steve pinches the bridge of his pale nose and sternly utters one word: "Tony."

"Yes, yes, yes, I was getting back to that. The suit did indeed last long enough to get some specs on this not-really-a-woman. See for yourself."

He pulls up a few lines of text to accompany the photo.

**ELEMENTAL COMPOSITION:**

-H-Molecular Hydrogen (82.5%)

-He-Helium (15.2%)

-CH4C-Methane (2.3%)

**TRACES:**

-ammonia ice

-water ice

-ammonia hydrosulfide: S-H

-methane ice

Steve and I look at each other, clearly befuddled. "Methane?" the Captain queries.

"The very same gas that exits the rears of millions of cows each day, my friend. This damsel (nowhere near in distress, mind you) and all of her pals posing as humans ain't from Earth."

"A galaxy far, far away then?"

"No, young Jedi Princess Dylan. Much closer to home than you'd think. The name of this file is 'Sevens' because as it turns out, the unwelcome visitors are from the seventh planet away from our own sun, which is—"

Steve and Tony uttered the planet's name at the same time, but with two different pronunciations. I'll let you guess who used the childish one.

"Uranus? Really? I'll be damned," I said, putting my math professor hat on. "But Uranus is over a billion miles away. It would take thousands of years for a set of beings to reach here. So either they found a way to mess with time. . .

". . .or they've been traveling for just that long," Steve finishes.

"Well, it would certainly explain why they're so pissed off. I mean, I get a little cranky after a couple hours in the Lear. Pepper has to ply me with mimosas to shut me up."

"Well, but wait—who says they just got here? For all we know they might have been living amongst us for decades. Centuries, even."

My male compatriots nod at my alternative theory, and I fall silent as they continue to talk. Drawing into the core of my mind must be done to balance the external verbal articulation of my initial impressions.

_Hostile visitors from another planet. From Uranus. Named for Ouranos, the Greek god of the Sky. Mythological father of Kronos and grandfather to Zeus._

_Uranus. A cold gas giant. A planet bereft of life._

Or so we thought.

In thinking further about the Greek mythological origins of Ouranos, I gasp aloud. Although I'm a mathematician by profession and a scientist at heart, I learned long ago never to discount the ancient stories of the past.

"What's up, buttercup?" queries Tony.

"I was just considering the mythological background of Uranus."

"And?" fires back America's iron sweetheart. "Have you ASS-imilated an answer? Figured out what's going to REAR its ugly head?"

"Tony, this is serious. Before Ouranus was castrated by his son Kronos (or Time)—before he brought the sky down every night to mate with Gaia, the Earth—before all that, he was born from Chaos."

Tony tries to look nonchalant as he says, "Well, sounds like we'd have a lot in common," but I can see a flicker of worry dance across his dark eyes.

Steve airs what the three of us are really thinking:

"So we haven't seen the last of the Sevens. Not by a long shot."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

After an hour of puzzling, musing, theorizing and sighing in frustration, we three intrepid minds decide to take a break. We simply can't do any more without more information—and more help.

"I think it's best if I check in with Mr. Fury," Steve says, moving to rise from the table.

Tony gets a mischievous look in his eyes and quickly counters, "Let me, Flag Pants. I can provide him with all of the technical jargon surrounding the Sevens anyway. You two should go for a walk or something. See if rains, just for the heck of it. This is Seattle after all."

I try to look noncommittal while metaphorically shoving my heart back down my esophagus. "You game?"

The master tactician hesitates for a moment—it would be unlike him not to give a report after a failed battle. He furrows his brow a little and gives Tony a look. "Be sure to mention the duration of our engagement with the enemy before you showed up. Thirty minutes or so, in my estimation. Tell him it's imperative we get all the resources available to track these things down and anticipate their next move. I want Barton here if he's not otherwise occupied. Romanoff too."

"Unfortunately, I know for a fact that Natasha is overseas at the moment. Something about teaching President Putin a lesson wrapped in rainbow flags."

Before Steve can get pissed about this I quickly offer, "Hey, no worries. I'm happy to be your token girl anytime."

The Captain shakes his head, his face the very picture of seriousness. "You and Ms. Romanoff are anything but token, Dylan. We're lucky to have you for more than just your feminine features."

I try hard not to blush, but fail.

"Aww, see? Look at that. You two are just TOO cute. Now get out of here so I can talk to Ol' One-Eye."

* * *

Steve and I step out of the safehouse and have only a short walk before arriving in the grassy loam of Discovery Park. As we were under siege at Magnuson yesterday evening, my mind strained to concentrate on a place that would get us far enough away yet still be in the city.

Magnuson Park sits at the easternmost end of Seattle, overlooking Lake Washington. Thor could throw a boulder from its sports fields and hit the suburbs across the water.

_The opposite of safety is danger¸_I'd thought while fending off a crushing blow from the metallic man in front of me_. _My suit was ripped and blood stained my black & white hair._ I take the danger we are in and shift it to the other side. The opposite of East is West. We will move to safety in the West. Now. _

"Steve, give me your hand!" I'd screamed. "We're leaving!"

To say that the Captain had been displeased as I spirited us away would be an understatement.

Now, though, he looked more fatigued than mad at me. The air was warm but not uncomfortably hot in the park, and already I could smell the salt of Puget Sound rushing up through the trees to meet us.

"I'm surprised you let Tony take the call with Nick," I state, heading towards the water. "Not that I'm complaining."

He smiles a little. "Well, some smart woman I know told me I should take a few moments to myself every now and then. And Tony's right. He's better equipped to deliver the information Fury will need to send us the proper help."

The Super Soldier bows his head once more, deep in thought. A few minutes go by before he voices his concerns, but I'm in no hurry. I'm perfectly content to listen to the birds and keep an eye out for deer. Content to clear my mind.

"I think what has me concerned is trying to find a motive," Steve begins. "In the battles I've fought, the enemy has always had a very clear purpose. The fact that I don't know what's driving these beings is eating at me."

I nod in agreement. "It was unsettling, wasn't it? Their lack of demands. The ruthless efficiency."

"But most of all the brutality—utter brutality carried out in complete silence." He shakes his head in disbelief. "That sort of violence with no discernable reason is something I have trouble wrapping my head around."

I clap him lightly on the back, my fingers resisting the urge to squeeze his lats that are so nicely highlighted by the simple red tshirt. "I know. It's frightening to me too. I don't like the thought of a bunch of space freaks taking over my city, and I hate it that we don't yet know where they'll strike next."

"But," I continue, "what I do know is that in order to beat these things we have to be at our best, which means letting go for a bit. Stepping back. You may be an enhanced human being, but you're still a human being-meaning you need balance. Some calm and tranquility before we ratchet up the ass-kicking again."

"You're lecturing me on being calm, Ms. Skinner?"

I roll my eyes, to which he quickly responds, "I'm just teasing. I do appreciate it. And you're right. You do have to admit, though, it is a little amusing when you talk of tranquility."

I know he doesn't mean anything by it, and I usually deflect comments like this all the time, but I feel tears prick at the corner of my green eyes. I jam both hands in the pockets of my jeans and set my jaw. _He doesn't know me. He knows nothing. Nothing of how hard I work to keep my emotions in check. How every day is both a fucking struggle and a delicate tightrope act between shadow and sun. _

To his credit, Cap notices pretty quickly that he's touched a nerve. "Dylan. I'm sorry."

I shrug, not wanting to cry in front of the man I'm clearly falling for.

"I—ugh, rats," Steve grunts, nervously pushing a hand through his blonde hair. We've come to a bench overlooking the water and he bids me to sit down.

"I think I'm trying to take a page out of Tony's book," he admits. "Use some humor to lighten the situation. But that wasn't the right moment for it. I can see that you're upset."

I'm still unable to speak, feeling the emotion well in my throat.

He leans over on his knees and looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes. "The world has changed so much in the seventy years I was frozen. And as I'm coming to realize, although I have a lot of knowledge others don't there are still lots of things I'm pretty ignorant of. And one of those things is—what you have. This illness you mentioned last night and that I've seen flashes of in the last week.

Can you tell me a little about it? Tell me where your powers come from?"

I hesitate. I've shared these details many times before, and the people that love me have cared for them so tenderly. Done their best to make me feel like a normal person. In fact, when the shit hit the fan for the first time my mother told me: "Dylan, you are sick. And you need medicine. This is no different than if you fell down and broke your leg."

But telling my tale to romantic partners has been a different story. No matter how much the men I've dated seem to try, they can't get past the big scary illness name with the accompanying big scary drugs. I've opened my heart several times only to be left alone not long after. The phone calls, the texts, the dates, the adventures stop. All of it stops when I tell the truth.

_Steve's not an ordinary man, though, missy_, I chide. _In fact, he's chemically different from any human being on Earth! You can't make him pay in the present for the actions of jerkoffs in the past. He wants to know. He's asking. _

_Just tell him. _

I take a deep breath and begin.

"Well, so the root of it is a mental illness called bipolar disorder. They used to call it manic-depression more frequently back in the day; perhaps you've heard that term before."

He nods but says nothing, his eyes urging me to continue.

"Bipolar disorder is a chemical imbalance. Essentially the portions of your brain that are supposed to regulate the processing of certain hormones don't work the way they're supposed to. So if people are left untreated, they shift back and forth, sometimes very rapidly, from a state of being slow, low and depressed—to elevated, sped up and manic."

"How does it come to be? I mean, uh, how do you get it?"

Out of nervousness I smooth my violet hair down a few times. "It's genetic. Passed down through dad's side, in my case. But I had no idea until I was eighteen, when I got diagnosed and my life blew up."

"What happened?"

"I was in college. Second semester of my freshman year. About two weeks into the term I started getting really depressed. Crying all the time, couldn't sleep at night and then couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Felt fat, ugly, stupid. Brain dead. I started to think about killing myself," I finish, a little softer than when I began.

I'm a little worried as to what The Captain's thoughts on suicide are. I was happy I'd never carried out my wrist-slitting, pill-taking plans, but I defended my right and that of anyone else to contemplate it. _Please don't let him think it weak. Please._

He reaches out with one of his large mitts and covers my tiny right hand. "I'm so sorry you felt that bad," he says quietly. "You must have felt very alone."

"Yeah. Which isn't to say that my friends, family, roommate weren't all trying to help. I just couldn't understand what was happening in my mind.

So I finally went to the school health center, and they gave me a printed sheet of questions to answer titled 'Are You Depressed?' with one of the logos of a major pharmaceutical company at the bottom. I answered seven out of ten as 'Yes' and they sent me back to my dorm with an anti-depressant drug."

"I suppose that makes sense empirically," Steve muses. "Seems pretty rushed though."

"Yeah, at the time I was just such a mess I would have eaten live frogs if they told me it would work. And the thing is, the drugs did make me feel better. After a couple of weeks I was getting back to the old me. I had more energy, I could read again, was spending time with friends.

But that's when it all started to spin out of control. See, there's these things called neurotransmitters in your brain that move back and forth across neurons, regulating hormones and the emotions that go with them. When you're depressed, those transmitters are going really slow. But when they speed up because you've started taking an antidepressant. . . ."

Steve winces.

"Yeah. When they speed up, you're in overdrive. I started sleeping only two, three hours a night. I started talking really fast and interrupting everyone around me. I bought things I couldn't afford. And—" My breath sticks in my throat.

"Go on, please. If you can."

"Bipolar disorder doesn't manufacture things in people. It simply takes what's already there and jacks it up to extremes. I'm a very sensuous, physical person. Always have been. And when I got manic I didn't care who I shared my body with. At least four people in the span of four days. Maybe more. I still get flashes of shame about that.

And the other thing—the really weird thing—was religious in nature."

"Religious?"

"So, I've considered myself either an atheist or a very healthy skeptic my entire life. But suddenly when the medication went crazy, I went around telling anyone who would listen that I'd been saved by Jesus and that He was the only path of salvation. I went to campus Christian group meetings and told the other members how I felt like Lazarus, being raised from the dead.

I know you're a person of faith and so I, um, I don't know if you'll be able to understand how scary it was."

Cap thinks for a moment. "I believe in God, but I also believe in the right of every American to practice freedom of religion. And I also know that when everything you know is yanked out from underneath you, it's very disconcerting. Faith should come as a process and a journey, not as a chemical accident."

I smile through the tears that have begun to well once more. "It was so frightening. I was completely out of control and I didn't know what was happening to me. Finally I crashed."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No. It was very much not good. Each cycle is a little different, but everyone who has bipolar disorder experiences the sudden shift from high to low at some point. And depending on what you've done, who you've fucked or what you've said, it can be devastating.

So my parents took me to a psychiatrist-whom I instantly disliked. She put me on lithium, which is one of the very common treatments for bipolar. My parents took me back here to Seattle and we thought everything might be okay."

"But. . . ."

April 29th of 2002 (day after my dad's birthday), I woke up and started throwing up. . .and I couldn't stop. My father drove me to my doctor's office, where they actually initially refused to treat me without faxed, written authorization from my psychiatrist. Eventually they gave me a shot of something for the vomiting and sent me to a nearby emergency room, where this other doctor slapped me in the face and said, "So, are you bipolar, or what?!"

Steve's sky-colored eyes flash angrily at this. "He said that to you? While you were drugged up and sick?"

"Yup. To my credit, I looked at him and screamed, 'I DON'T KNOW!' as loud as I could.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night. Just flashes—nurses coming in to take my blood pressure. The ache in my left arm from the IV. My parents standing next to the bed looking worried as hell."

"Good grief."

"Ever since that day it's been one long battle. Trying to keep things under control and find a way to live my life as a functioning adult."

"Do you take any medication now?"

"I take just enough lithium to help me stay balanced. It's frustrating, having to rely so heavily on something I need to put in my body. So often I've wondered if the things I'm able to do are really me, or if they're just a result of—"

I stop for a moment and look up to find Steve nodding vigorously. "Believe me. I know all about that. You start to question who or what you might be if not for what's coursing through your veins.

So. . .okay. I understand the mental illness aspect of it now. But that doesn't explain your powers."

"The first few years after I got diagnosed are kind of just this haze of meds. . .doctors. . .depression. . .that kind of stuff. I did finish school, but just barely.

About five years ago, though, I started noticing that as a result of doing so much work to control my emotions and find balance, I had developed an excellent understanding of duality. In order to find the gray area in life, it's necessary to first intimately understand both black and white.

A lot of it was rooted in curiosity at first, truth be told. I wanted to challenge my mind, to see if I could become so adept at understanding opposites that knowledge of both halves of the universe would flow through me."

I shrug a little. "I hope that doesn't sound too weird. It was my way of accepting the disease. If I could master both ends of the spectrum, I wouldn't have to be afraid when my own moods slipped too far into one side or the other."

The gorgeous blonde man sitting next to me was wide-eyed with curiosity. "That is completely fascinating," he managed to utter. "But how—the disappearing act we did—I mean, there's a big difference between turning a cat into a dog and moving like Nightcrawler."

"Well, but see, it's both more complex and more simple than what you just said."

"I don't follow."

"Okay. First of all, the opposite of a cat isn't always a dog. Finding balance and a spectrum is very situational. I mean, sure, there are some steadfast examples—like up and down, north and south, hot and cold—but everything else is so much more theoretical than that. It all depends on your intent."

He raises an eyebrow.

"No, stay with me! If you're trying to shift something into its opposite, you have to be very intentional about which aspect of that thing you isolate. A cat is finicky, selective in its love, independent and moody. This is all true. BUT it's also a mammal. A domesticated pet. A revered symbol in some ancient cultures.

If you just looked at a cat, concentrated and said, 'I turn you into your opposite,' you could get anything from a full-blown tiger to a slithering reptile. It has to be very precise."

"I'm failing to see the simplicity."

"Once you have isolated the elements of what you want to shift, it's just a matter of focus. Last night we needed somewhere safe that was still in Seattle. We were at the easternmost end of the city in a dangerous place, so I took us here—a similar park but out of danger and on the western edge."

"So that explains why we didn't end up in New York last night. Or the bottom of Chile."

"Precisely."

The Super Soldier exhales loudly, clearly marveling at all he's been told. "Well, that is quite the backstory," he remarks, then looks at me. "You should be very, very proud of all the work you've done to take care of yourself."

My heart rate begins to rise and I shyly push a lock of hair behind my right ear. "Aw, I dunno—I don't always do so great with this thing. It's still a restless being inside of me. . .these two intertwining snakes, forever hissing and spitting at each other. I—"

"Dylan."

A hint of a smile graces my lips and I decide to take him at his word. To temporarily beat back the expectations of perfection and allow myself a few seconds of pride.

"Yeah. Okay, okay. Thank you."

"I've fought alongside a lot of men in my time, and the battles we won and lost were very trying. But what you're describing to me, this sort of inner battle, I think sounds just as hard if not harder."

"The sun keeps coming up, and I keep getting out of bed, my friend. That's really all I can do."

"Sounds like you've done a lot more than that to me. Thank you for sharing your story."

"Well, thanks for listening. And. . .for not running away in horror. The twenty-first century could use a few more men like you I think."

He smiles. "Maybe. Promise me, though—I know we haven't known each other for that long, but if you ever find yourself in that low, dark place and you need someone, I can be here for you."

I kindly ask my heart to stop assaulting my rib cage and at last feel tears spilling into my lap. "Thanks, Captain. I really appreciate it. I'll make sure to give you a call though; I know your texting is still a little shaky."

A scoff jumps from Steve's throat. "Oh brother. I send one paragraph and the entire crew freaks out."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and then Steve scoots over such that he's right next to me on the bench. A red-clad arm is wrapped about my back and I allow my head to rest upon his shoulder. My eyes close as I drink in the perfection of the moment. My heartbeat slows to match the cadence of his chest rising and falling in fluid harmony. I hear him breathe in sharply, as if he's about to say something-

-suddenly my phone buzzes, startling both me and my companion. Reluctantly I yank it from my jacket and glare at the screen.

"_Need you two crazy kids back here," _Tony's text reads. _"We got an archer on the way and more info from our favorite pirate."_

"Looks like we're wanted back at the ranch, Captain," I say brightly, making a mental note to turn Tony into a mime when this is all over.

My favorite military man stands up and moves along with me as we find the park path once more. He stays close during our short walk back to the safehouse, closer than he was when we first stepped into the summer afternoon.

We reach the door together and he very lightly places a hand on the small of my back.

"After you, Duo," comes the gentle phrase from his lips, and we head inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The back of a deep purple polo shirt greets me and Steve as we step through the safehouse doorway. I can see a few tufts of spiked, gelled hair rising over the plane of the mystery guest's head, and as my eyes travel further southward I'm more than pleased by the backside being so kindly accentuated by tight black pants.

"Ah! The nature lovers hath returned," Tony remarks.

The man clad in the color of royalty turns to face us, with a hardened set of cheekbones yet laughing eyes. Those eyes—they're a slightly darker blue than Steve's, and they shine differently than the Captain's. With a slight hint of mischief.

_Good Christ, is everyone on this superhero squad runway worthy? I feel like I'm at a GQ photoshoot. _

"Barton, good to see you again."

"Pleasure's all mine as usual, Captain. And what's your name?"

"Skinner. Erm, Dylan. Dylan Skinner."

"Good for you, James Bond," he jokes. "How d'you know these two dudes?"

"We were strangers before last Monday, when one of these Uranian motherfuckers tried to put a dent in my street on the other side of town. The Captain and I met while he was trying to avoid an early exit from Earth."

"I see. That would have been quite a sight from above. Or below, for that matter." Clint winks at me playfully and I smile. _Ohhhhh goodness._

Steve clears his throat impatiently. "How did you get here so fast?"

"It's amazing what a couple dozen golden eagles will do for you when you save their nest from poachers."

"You hitched a ride here on eagles."

"Not as farfetched as it might seem, Skinner Dylan Skinner. Super-sized golden eagles have incredible wing span, crazy speed and razor sharp defenses. They took me up from Frisco after I heard about the weird-ass alien invasion."

"I don't know why I bother getting incredulous anymore," I sigh. "You guys have all brought more cracked-out shit into my life in a week than I've had in 30 years on the planet."

"And that's saying something," Iron Man fires back. "Now that Dylan's with us once more in adult superhero land, shall we all have a little informational review before the final exam?"

* * *

It turned out that Tony and his fancy phablet had been right—our unwanted guests were indeed from Uranus. Nick Fury was apparently both irked yet pleased to be issuing further orders on the matter.

"He's just like the rest of us," Tony explains. "Gets restless after too long without a fight. Leave that pirate on his own and he might go buy a parrot. Or pantaloons. Maybe even a scimitar! Ooooh, I bet one of those would clang nicely off the BUTT of all my jokes to come."

Being witness to the nonstop humming of Iron Man's brain now meant I was never bored. _I can see how it might be off-putting to some, though. _He made it so easy for casual observers to dismiss him as cavalier, uncaring, or perhaps just too sarcastic. But if you listened hard enough, you could tell Tony Stark was none of those things.

_Ridiculous, yes. Cold-hearted, no._

"So, Ironsides, what's the word from on high?" Clint leans back in a chair, motorcycle boots propped up on a stool. Big, tanned hands are folded in his lap. . .and I notice his pants are tight from the front too.

The most prominent feature on the one called Hawkeye, though, wasn't between his legs. Clint's polo shirt provided an excellent visual cue as to his capabilities-for not too far below the short sleeves lay a pair of extremely impressive forearms. Not overly jacked up but obviously pulsing with raw power. The right arm in particular tended to tense up when he spoke, as if it had a mind of its own.

"Well, Robin Hood, the four of us are now responsible for making sure these oh-so-shimmery pieces of interplanetary work don't rip apart our dear Dylan's city."

"Just the four of us?" Based on last night's failure, I'm skeptical about the lack of firepower.

"For this next stage, yes. Romanoff's feeding badass borscht to President Homophobe, and Thor's playing Family Feud up there in Asgard. Banner's back in India for some R & R, but he's willing to lend his mind for the sciency parts. We might be able to call in some X-tra special help if we need it, too."

_First the Avengers and now the X-Men? What a week._

Tony turns the conversation over to Steve. "Ok, Sam Adams—what's the plan?"

Stark, as I was noticing, never seemed to have the same nickname for Steve twice in a row. Although it seemed to be partially for his own amusement, I noticed that Tony's revolving door of monikers always made the Captain smile.

"Two parts to the mission," Cap says with palpable efficiency. "Dylan and I will talk strategy and try to puzzle out where these things might strike next."

He turns to me, his features enveloped in the art of war. "I'll want to pick that brain of yours to get as much knowledge as I can about the city.

Tony, I want you and Clint to first list what assets we have, then go back over the recording of last night's battle. See if you can figure out why the female Uranian zapped your energy and what, if any, weaknesses we might be able to exploit the next time our paths cross with that of these creatures."

Three nods commence in unison.

"You got it, El Capitan. Watch out for that one, though. She might turn you into someone with a sense of humor."

Both Steve and I smile. 


End file.
